


Blood Rite

by ardett



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Talking, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 16:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12963552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardett/pseuds/ardett
Summary: Why do you think it happens so much in high schools? It’s contagious.





	1. The Recovered

**Author's Note:**

> Big trigger warning for self harm, the whole thing is basically about self harm. Be safe.
> 
> Unbetaed

“Lance, we’re going to the pool. Wanna come?” Lance’s head jerks up from his tablet at Hunk’s voice. Hunk’s head pops into his room a moment later.

“Yeah, sure, man. You’re going right now?” Hunk nods as Lance powers off the tablet. “Cool, I’ll meet you there. Let me change.”

“Okay, see you there.” Hunk waves as the door slides closed behind him.

Lance grabs his swim trunks and hops around his room, slinging off his pants and tugging on the shorts. Nabbing a towel from his bathroom rack, he makes his way towards the castle’s elevator. His offkey hums echos in the empty space, a nearly forgotten tune from his childhood.

By the time he arrives at the pool, everyone else is already longing on adjacent chairs or swimming in the water. Lance tosses his towel onto the chair next to Coran and whoops as he jumps in. His splash throws water up into Keith’s face (absolutely unintentionally, of course) and Lance’s feet brush the bottom of the pool before he rockets back towards the surface.

As he pops out of the water, he’s greeted with a growl from Keith. (But he can see the turn of a smile on the edges of the other boy’s lips.) From up on the diving board, he hears someone cry, “Watergun fight!”

And so the battle begins.

 

Well worn out from the play fight, all stinging eyes and gasp-heavy lungs, the paladins trudge out of the water, each claiming a chair near the reposing Alteans.

Lance leans back with a sigh, easing the tension from his body with every exhale. He closes his eyes as the drowsy warmth whispers its sweet lullaby. There’s only the background murmur of Hunk and Pidge talking about how to improve the Green Lion’s camouflage and the gurgle of the pool, all soft enough sounds that Lance can feel himself drifting off. (His mother used to tell him to never go to bed with wet hair, but this is just a nap, and she isn’t h- )

Lance’s forehead wrinkles before relaxing again.

“What are those from?” Keith’s voice jars Lance out of his moment of almost peace.

He blinks himself back to full consciousness, gaze sliding over to Keith. Keith isn’t meeting Lance’s eyes. He’s looking at Lance’s legs. (The swim trunks are so much shorter than his regular pants; he had completely forgotten.)

Lance knows exactly what Keith's thinking, can map out every thought to the letter.

_ Where did all those scars come from? How come I’ve never seen them before? How long have they been there? Are they from a battle? No, the paladin armor covers that part of the thigh. Are they from training? No, I would remember. And they wouldn’t be so straight. And there wouldn’t be so many. Where did they come from, where did they come from, where did they come from? _

Lance knows it’s no use lying, not to Keith. It’s not the most awful thing to talk about. It’s just… awkward.

_ Where are those from? _

“...middle school,” he finally settles on.

“Huh?” Keith meets Lance’s eyes. His brow furrows. “I… I don’t get it.”

Lance swallows. He stares down Keith, a sick feeling in his stomach as he almost asks if Keith is making fun out him. But no, Keith just doesn’t get it. Lance can tell by the look in his eyes, a little lost and a little concerned and a little tense. He just doesn’t get it.

“Come on, man.” A forced laugh strangles from Lance’s throat. “You know everybody want to tear themselves apart in middle school. I just… did.”

“You tore yourself- oh. You mean you…” And now Keith can’t meet his gaze. He breathes out a final, “Oh.”

“Yeah. It’s not that big a deal. It was a long time ago. I don’t do it anymore. It’s whatever, really.”

Keith’s voice is much quieter as he replies, “Okay,” and quieter still as he says, “If you… if you ever need to talk about it or… or something-”

“Dude,” Lance holds up a hand. “It’s really fine. Really. I know and I appreciate it, but really, it was forever ago and I… I know, okay? Thank you, but you don’t need to go out of your way or something to… whatever. It’s fine.” He tries to be as firm as he can without being rude.

“Right, right, yeah, of course!” Keith nods, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine, Keith.” Lance’s smile is more genuine this time. “Right? It’s fine.”

“Right. It’s fine,” Keith repeats and Lance stifles a short laugh because he knows Keith is trying, really trying, even if it’s by mechanically agreeing with whatever Lance says.

“Alright, buddy. Good talk.” Lance pats Keith’s arm, grinning as Keith jerks back in surprise. “I’m gonna shower and go to bed. See you later.”

“See you later,” Keith repeats again. Lance shakes his head as he leaves.


	2. The Infected

Keith can’t stop thinking about it, why can’t he stop thinking about it?

His bayard is shaking in his hand, blade still out and still so, so sharp. He drops it and it clatters to the floor, fading away to its harmless state. He swallows.

Maybe if he takes a walk to clear his head. Maybe that will help.

He starts off at a brisk pace.

What is it, why does he feel this way? Is it the pressure? But every one of them is under pressure, and he’s been under worse pressure when they were in the thick of war-torn space, so why does he feel this way now?

His fingers brush over his wrist and he flinches away from himself.

He walks faster, calf muscles burning. He’s hardly looking at where he’s going until he stumbles over something.

His bayard.

It’s on the floor.

Keith blinks.

It’s in his hand.

His breath catches in his throat.

The blade sparks into being, glowing and promising him release. Just this once. Just one little-

“No,” Keith chokes out, but his grip tightens on the hilt. 

He closes his eyes and thinks about steadying his trembling hands. It has to a clean line, just one clean straight line and he’ll feel better. Then his mind will finally shut up, then he won’t feel so sick to his stomach. Not too deep, just enough to bleed-

“Keith?”

His bayard wrenches away from his wrist and Keith whips around to see Shiro.

“I thought I heard you say something…” Shiro’s voice trails off as Keith’s wild eyes meet his. “What are you doing?”

Keith takes one shaky step towards him, then another until Shiro moves forward to catch him, hands gripping his shoulder and waist. “Keith, what’s going on?” Shiro tries to get a glimpse of Keith’s face.

Keith’s bayard is shoved between them, blade sheathed, and Keith pushes it harder against Shiro’s chest. “You- You need to take this.”

“What? Why?” Shiro loosely grasps the handle and as soon as he does, Keith stumbles away. Shiro reaches for him but Keith dances out of his reach. Shiro tries to approach him but it’s not until Shiro pauses that Keith stops backing away. 

“I can’t have it,” Keith whispers.

“Why not? You’re the red paladin. This is your bayard.”

“I know, I know, but…” Keith’s murmur fades as his eyes fix on his bayard. It takes a physical effort to rip his gaze away. His eyes flick up to Shiro's face. “Did you know that Lance has scars?” he says suddenly.

“I… I have seen them before.”

“He gave them to himself. He did that to himself.”

“I know.” Shiro’s voice is careful, tense. Keith’s bayard shifts in his hand. There’s a heavy pause before Shiro intones, “Keith-”

“I want to do it too,” Keith breathes.

Shiro’s expression doesn’t change. He must have guessed it. “Okay. Let’s talk about it.”

He moves to approach Keith again and Keith flinches. “No… no bayard,” Keith mutters. “It can’t be near me right now.”

Shiro gently places the bayard near his feet and spreads his hands in front of himself in a gesture of peace. “Okay?” He takes a step towards Keith and Keith nods.

Shiro finally takes Keith’s hand and leads him to the far side of the room. He slides down against the wall and tugs Keith with him, the other boy all but collapsing against him. Shiro doesn’t say anything at first, only traces up Keith’s arms with his fingertips. The tension eases out of Keith at the caress until Shiro murmurs, “You haven’t done it yet.” He drops Keith’s wrists.

Keith stares at their pale, smooth expanse. “Is it yet?” He looks to Shiro and Shiro’s blank eyes.

“You haven’t done it,” Shiro amends. He breaks eye contact. “Why do you want to?”

“I don’t know.” Keith turns his hands over, flexes them. “I just haven’t been able to stop thinking about it every since I talked to Lance. It’s like… now that I know it’s an option-”

“It’s not an option.”

“I know, I know, but it is, you know?” Keith huffs in a breath. His hands clench for a moment.

“I do know.”

Keith’s eye narrow as his gaze slides to Shiro. “You do?”

“Sure.” Shiro’s brow wrinkles, the corner of his mouth tugging downwards. His head bangs lightly against the wall behind them as he leans back. “The Garrison is one of the toughest flight schools in the country. It also has one of the highest suicide rates in the country. When I got in, I was still just a kid. I was fifteen, I think? So I saw it. I thought about it.”

“Did you do it? Did you ever…”

“No. No, I never did.” Heat warms Keith’s side and he looks over to see Shiro’s arm glowing faintly. Shiro blinks as he notices as well, muttering, “Sorry, it won’t hurt you.” The metal dims again. 

Five minutes ago, Keith would have wanted it to burn him. Now though, sitting here with Shiro, he feels the urge passing.

“Then I was captured by the Galra,” Shiro continues. “Once you’re faced with death, that’s not an option anymore. You realize that all the problems you thought you had are insignificant in the face of real harm. And you can’t put yourself at a disadvantage like that.” Shiro’s eyes harden as he stares down Keith. “So understand me when I say that something like self harm is not an option. You shouldn’t do it on Earth, but on Earth you weren’t playing with people’s lives. Now you are. Do you understand?”

Keith swallows, eyes stinging. “I understand.”

“That’s what I have to say as your leader.” Shiro’s fingers brush against Keith’s. “But as your friend… I know it’s hard. If you ever need to talk about it, you can always come to me. If you ever feel like you’re going to do it, please… come to me.”

“I will,” Keith whispers. “I think it’s passing. The feeling.”

“It usually does.” They sit in silence for a moment longer before Shiro gets to his feet. “Alright, let’s go.”

Keith takes his outstretched hand. They walk across the training room. Shiro picks up Keith’s bayard, offering it to the other boy.

“Can I give this back to you now?” He raises an eyebrow.

Keith hesitates, then nods. His fingers close one by one on the handle as Shiro lets the bayard go. “I’ll put it away for now.”

“Okay, I’ll leave you to it.”

Keith watches Shiro walk out of the room and turn the corner. His gaze drifts back to his bayard. The blade materializes, shimmering.

And then fades away.

He puts the bayard back with his armor.


	3. The Relapsed

“But…” Shiro turns away from the camera. The recording light shines dully against his cheek. “I don’t think my survival instinct was only reason the… feeling... went away. 

“I wanted to be noteworthy. Everyone who went to the Garrison did. We were all constantly competing and I… I would have done anything to be noticed… by anyone. 

“You get this sick idea that hurting yourself makes you something special. Makes you deeper, or a more emotional person, or some shit. It proves that you’re working harder than the other kids who aren’t doing it. That it makes you better than them because you’re doing something they can’t do. Won’t do. Or at the very least, someone will pay attention to you. You’ll finally stand out.

“And then I became the Champion. Everyone noticed me. I didn’t need it anymore because… because I had people cheering my name. I was the strongest. The best. And the other part of me, the part that wanted to understand pain and to see… blood… It was satisfied. For once.”

Just under the quiet static of the camera, the audio picks up, “I miss it.”

Shiro buries his head in his hands, whispering, “I’m a monster. I’m a monster.”

He trembles until he... doesn’t anymore. 

Shiro’s eyes stare directly into the lens from between his fingers.

There’s a guttural scream before the audio cuts out. The image tilts sideways, crashing to the ground, and flickers to black. 

It hums back to life a moment later but the recording only shows a crack in the lens and a smear of red.


End file.
